


Nights Like This

by DktrAgonizer



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DktrAgonizer/pseuds/DktrAgonizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Nygma’s reflections on the nights he spends together with Selina Kyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights Like This

It's pleasantly uncommon for Selina to extend an invite for you to visit. You're usually the one to take it upon yourself to drop in, and she usually tolerates it before kicking you out hours later. You don't get kicked out when she's the one to call you over, so naturally you much prefer this.

It's even more pleasantly uncommon for you to wind up in bed together. She has no spare bedroom suitable for its intended use, meaning you sleep on the couch most often. But sometimes she'll be just the right level of affectionate, or sometimes you'll crack just the right joke, and she'll pull you in with her.

You've never done anything more than kiss, although you have oft entertained the notion. No doubt she has, too, but neither of you have taken the suggestive jokes seriously enough to try. There's a barrier there, unspoken but obvious, in the shape of a large black Bat. 

Maybe it shouldn't matter. You're almost certain it doesn't to Selina, but you've never been able to sort your own feelings on the matter (and your hesitation is always so glaringly obvious). Still, you don't bemoan what you have. It's comfortable, and nights like this are rare enough you couldn't take them for granted even if you tried.

It's most uncommon (and not pleasant at all) that you wake in her bed from a bad dream, heart hammering in your throat and hands desperately clutching at the sheets. The first time it happens, it's more a memory than a nightmare, but the effect it has on your body is the same. You can feel the soreness setting in, the memory of punishing blows delivered with gauntleted fists. It makes you sick to think of those same hands on Selina, gentle and _intimate,_ and you end up leaving in the middle of the night without a word. She asks about it later, and the guilt bubbles in your stomach at the hurt you hear in her tone.

The second time it happens, it's not the Batman whose fists you feel. You try to get up again, but you only make it as far as the door before you collapse, face in hand, breaths coming in too quickly and too shallowly. Selina wakes up this time. She's gentle when she crouches down to ask you what's wrong, and gentler still when you flinch away at her touch. She asks what it was, but you don't tell her. You can't. She holds you instead, fingers cool against your forehead, as you get yourself under control.

The third time it happens is months down the road. Her head is ducked under yours, and she wakes the moment you do, clammy skin and thudding heart and a cry strangled in your throat. You still pull yourself away, determined to hit the living room this time before you break down, but the panic isn't so thoughtful. She holds you when you slide to the floor, trying to remember how to regulate your breathing. She asks again what it was, but even if you wanted to divulge it, the dream had already slipped away the moment your eyes opened. But you can make a guess, and you'd rather not dwell.

She's gentle and patient every time this happens, but she doesn't linger over it once you've gotten yourself back in order. Whether it's out of respect for your privacy or your pride - or maybe both - you're always quietly grateful for it. You wonder if she, too, is occasionally plagued by nightmares. You wouldn't be surprised. But if she is, it's never when she's with you. You don't ask, because asking would be conceding to let her pry into your own baggage, and you aren't ready for anybody to begin unzipping that yet.

You could love her, you reflect the next time you're entangled on the couch with her, her lips warm and soft against yours and the taste of alcohol on her breath mingling with your own. Maybe you already do. It's hard to know, because you have no real _basis_ to go off of. But the evidence is there in the way you catch yourself staring at her when she's not looking, in the way you feel safe and comfortable pressed against her, in the unfair explosions of jealousy you feel every time she gallivants off with the Bat.

And maybe she knows, too. She's clever, she probably does. Sometimes you think the real riddle is why she even bothers with you; you're nothing but a distraction who can't sort out his own feelings, after all. You're hung up on something you probably shouldn't be so hung up on, and maybe you should just give in and _say_ something already before she tires of it and tires of _you_ and god but aren't you a mess?

With luck, you'll get things sorted one day. You don't mind living like this in the meantime (nightmares aside) and you certainly don't ever mind her company - even if you're unsure how long she'll be content to grace you with it. But you won't take this for granted either.

Either way, things feel better when you're under her covers, her warmth pressed close against you, your name sounding so sweet on her tongue. Maybe there will be more to it one day, and maybe not. You think you could happily accept either, so long as these rare and precious nights continue to exist.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Consider leaving a comment letting me know your thoughts; I'd love to read them!


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